Fights of the Quarterstaff
by Swa-Sa Masou
Summary: The fight between Francis and Louis re-written. This scene has always bothered me. If they're so concerned with reputations, this was the time to do damage control. T for implications. One-shot


_**A/N: In case you haven't read any of my other stories: this scene drives me absolutely crazy**_

Mary saw the two men vying for her affections being outfitted with their quarter-staffs. She felt uneasy. Why would Francis do something so foolish? To prove a point? To whom? All this would do was to invite gossip. It seemed as though he had something to prove and if either one of them so much as looked at her during this, that would certainly send people into a flurry of excitement over why the king would be fighting another man about his queen.

Acting quickly, Mary strode to Francis' side. She leaned in toward his ear, placing a hand on his forearm, "You don't have to do this." She whispered. "Ask me to dance. It will be just as effective for what you're foolishly trying to show Louis and it won't invite the gossip that this display will."

Backing away from his wife and queen, Francis almost looked ashamed. Good, thought Mary. He didn't need to cause more problems for them by being foolhardy. "Mary, it's too late for that. I can't back down from his challenge." The two locked eyes: Mary knew that he was right, he couldn't back down. Francis knew that she was right, that there had been a better way to handle this situation. "If you're so against this, what would you propose that I do?"

Knowing that a long deliberation would not be possible, Mary grinned and walked away from Francis. He wanted a spectacle, so be it. She could work this to their political advantage. Clearing her throat as she stepped to the center of the floor that had been cleared for their competition, she raised her voice, "It would appear that my husband has a challenger."

Mary turned to Louis, "Prince of Condé, you face the King of France, a man who has been training in close combat his entire life. Are you sure you wish to continue? I must warn you that my husband certainly knows how to handle his staff."

The echoing chuckles from the gathered crowd combined with Mary's double-edge comment seemed to deflate Louis' ego a touch, but he squared his shoulders. "Queen Mary, I humbly seek your permission to prove that I handle mine better." His smirk, almost a sneer, was unnerving to Mary.

She felt her cheeks flame at the insinuation of Louis' bold words and willed the annoyance out of her voice. Were this any other courtier, she wouldn't have such a strong reaction. Her attraction to Louis and Francis' knowledge of it were the only reasons why this could bring forth such a definite response. Searching for a way to dampen these flames while keeping the jovial tone the rest of court was hopefully getting from this, Mary placed a smile on her lips, "In this arena alone, dear prince, I grant you that permission. Though I express my doubts." She took a step back and raised her arms. Dropping them swiftly, she declared, "begin!"

She watched the two dance back and forth, each gaining and losing ground. She gasped with the rest of the audience when Louis landed a glancing blow on Francis' cheek and she repressed a groan when Francis' hit on Louis' stomach made an audible whoosh of air leave the second man.

Finally, Francis broke the staff Louis was holding and appeared triumphant for a moment before backing away as Louis advanced on him, without a weapon. It was clear to all watching that this was no longer a simple competition.

"That is enough!" The tone of Mary's voice stopped both men cold. Mary took rapid steps to place herself between Francis and Louis. The guards who had done the same seconds before she had found themselves to be unnecessary and backed up. She replaced her hand on Francis' forearm and hit Louis with a steely gaze. She did nothing to disguise the disgust in her voice, "It appears we won't be seeing any of your superior staff usage after all." To Francis, she whispered, "put your arm about my shoulders."

He leaned down, "but, Mary, are-"

She cut across him, "Just do it. Don't argue with me now." He did as he was bade and she led them out of the hall and through the doorway of the nearest room she could see. All in all, he had his arm on her for less than ten seconds, but it was enough to make Mary extremely uncomfortable. She shrugged it off as soon as they made it through the door. "I don't know what you thought you were doing!" She whirled on Francis as soon as the door swung shut behind them. "To speak to me of concealing our distance and then to accept the challenge of a man who you know to be attracted to me, a man you're jealous of!" She trailed off, looking expectantly at Francis.

He sat down with a heavy sigh. "I wasn't thinking, Mary. He made comments about my ability to protect you and I got angry. He challenged me and I accepted. You're right. I could have handled that better." He began biting at the edge of his thumb as he took a seat and stared into the lit grate. He slowly lowered his head to his hands and ran his fingers through his hair. Raising his gaze, he locked eyes with Mary. "I saw you two today, in the garden. You touched his arm and I got so jealous I could hardly think. It took everything I had not to charge out toward the two of you."

Mary also sat down in a chair looking into the flames. "Francis, I touched your arm tonight on more than one occasion, I had your arm around me just now, no matter how," she paused. She had no reason to make Francis feel worse about this situation. She had been about to say repulsed. "uncomfortable it made me feel. I have had more physical contact with you than with any other man, no matter how much it pains me. I'm keep pretenses."

Standing abruptly, fast enough that the chair wobbled from the force, Francis leveled Mary with slightly accusatory eyes. "Mary, you've been alone with him more often than pretense allows." His stare and voice softened. "when you heal, when you overcome what you're dealing with, ideally with my help, we will provide France and Scotland with an heir. At that time, there must be no doubt about the father of that child."

Eyes blazing, Mary also stood, hoping to level their heights. "Don't you think I know that? Did you think I said what I did in there for my own amusement?" She gestured back toward the main ballroom. "I have not missed the verbal skirmishes your father and I used to engage in so much that I felt the need to invent a new adversary. I was trying to protect the reputation that we have as a married couple just as you were holding a match to its tinder." With a huff, she sat back down.

The wind clearly being stripped from his sails, Francis followed suit. "I'm sorry, Mary. You're right. Of course, you're right. You rarely let emotions guide your actions." The quiet rang throughout the room as Mary felt she had nothing more to say and Francis turned over the words in his head. Finally, he broke the silence. "Mary, I'm so deeply sorry for what's happened to you. I blame myself each and every day. If I had found a different way to deal with that entire situation, it all would have unraveled differently and you wouldn't have been hurt." He stretched his legs in front of him and slumped deeply into the seat. "Condé so easily provokes me because he's partially right. I should have protected you better."

Looking into Mary's eyes, Francis saw only the firelight reflected in them. She would not meet his eyes, even as she responded to him, her hands folded beneath her chin. "That's irrational, Francis. As much as I might wish things had transpired differently, it doesn't change what happened." She sat up, pressing her palms to her thighs, "I need your patience and your understanding as we go forward, Francis."

Slowly standing and walking to stand beside Mary, Francis held out a hand to escort her out of the room, "I can give you patience and understanding, Mary, as long as it doesn't include your involvement with another."

Taking his hand and slowly rising, Mary noted how nice and right his warm grasp felt against her cold fingers. "I will not betray you, our marriage vows, or our alliance Francis. You must believe that." The two began walking toward the door, both pulling professional, political masks into place. They opened the door and began the short walk down the hall to rejoin their guests. At the last moment, Mary pulled Francis up short, "One last thing, Francis." The two joined their stares, "I love you, even if I cannot show it."

Slowly bringing her hand toward his lips, giving her plenty of time to pull away imperceptibly, Francis replied in a voice barely above a whisper, "and I love you, Mary, I can't wait until the day you'll allow me to show it."

Heads held high and pretenses intact, the two monarchs strode back into the ballroom to show their guests that nothing would break them.


End file.
